


Victim of Circumstance

by totilott



Series: A Groovy Kind of Love [16]
Category: DCU (Comics), Justice League International (Comics)
Genre: 1990s, Angst, M/M, You didn't think i could make this about privilege and class did you, fight fight fight, kooey kooey kooey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-05 00:40:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20480117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/totilott/pseuds/totilott
Summary: So the resort idea didn't pan out. What's Ted supposed to do about it?





	Victim of Circumstance

It's not even a good episode of Bosom Buddies, if any episode of Bosom Buddies can be called good. Ted's singularly intent on relaxing, on not being on edge, not scuttling away and hiding in his room. Not seeming ashamed at all. So here he is, with Bea and Tora on the couch, watching shit TV like he doesn't carry around a lump of restless anxiety the size of a bowling ball every day. Like he's not waiting for a bomb to go off.

The sound of the front door clanging shut makes him jump, earning a puzzled look from Bea next to him. Ted swallows, resting his chin in his hand, not taking his eyes off the TV.

Out of the corner of his eye he can see Booster enter the darkened living room, still dressed in his heavy coat and boots, a layer of snow on his shoulders, and it takes everything in Ted to pretend not to notice him. He stares unblinking at the TV screen and chews his lip. There’s an ache between his shoulder blades that won’t go away, and it’s not solely because he and Booster have both been relegated to cleaning duty this last week.

They haven’t been speaking for days.

“Wow, you're back again already. Did you find it, Booster?” Tora asks, leaning over Bea’s lap in the couch.

"Mm." Booster rummages in his plastic bag, producing a small brightly colored tube. “This the one you wanted?”

“Yes, perfect! Thank you!” Tora beams, accepting the chapstick and swiftly applying it with a satisfied squeal. Enjoying it more than Ted thought anyone could enjoy a chapstick. “How much do I owe you?”

“Forget it,” Booster mutters, unwinding his scarf, making the fine layer of snow drizzle to the floor, where it melts in tiny beads of moisture.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it didn’t exactly break the bank.” Booster pauses, and Ted has the funniest feeling Booster’s eyes are on him. “If a two dollar chapstick is the worst of your excesses, Tora, I don’t mind running your errands at all.”

Ted swallows, the image of the screen burning into his eyes.

“You’re really kind, Booster,” Tora smiles. “Thank you.”

Booster pauses, then waves a hand dismissively as he heads up the stairs. With a content sigh Tora resumes her place on the couch, her head resting on Bea's shoulder.

Ted turns to glance at her, but freezes when he sees the way Bea is frowning at him. He turns back to the screen, all too aware of the figurative hole Bea’s eyes are burning in him. It’s okay as long as it doesn’t cross into literal burning. “What?” he mutters eventually.

Bea doesn’t say anything. Just continues staring daggers at him.

“_What?_” Ted's head falls back, and he contemplates the ceiling separating them from Booster upstairs. “He’s allowed be to mad at me.”

Bea's gaze doesn't waver.

Ted sits up again, motioning at the TV, a silent plea to leave him alone, let him enjoy his shows. “You think me talking to him is gonna fix this?” He nods to the stairs. “I go up there, he’ll only shout at me.”

“Maybe you should give him that option,” she tells him quietly.

“I don't know if you were around when we came back from Kooey Kooey Kooey, but he's gone for that option several times already." Ted shrugs, glancing at Tora, who doesn't seem to register their conversation. “Very loudly, too.”

Hey, maybe he even deserves it. It was a stupid gamble, obvious in hindsight.

So sure, he could go up there, get another earful of how stupid and irresponsible he is, how he led Booster astray, be the bad guy. Won't solve anything. Won't make Booster any less white hot furious with him. He'll probably just work himself up even more. Ted sighs, leaning his elbow against the armrest of the sofa, resting his chin in his hand. He stares at Tom Hanks on the screen. He can't seem to quite follow the plot, such as it is.

"Nothing I can do. Just gonna..." He shrugs. "Ride it out."

If there’s one thing Ted’s upbringing has taught him, it’s that when someone’s mad at you, you lay low until the cloud’s passed. You don’t seek them out, you don’t pester them to forgive you, because that only annoys them more, makes their mood last longer. He’s feeling like he’s stoking Booster’s anger being around as it is, his presence a constant reminder of the resort flop, the lost fund. No chance of an absence that makes the heart grow fonder.

Ted would gladly check into a motel for a week or two, out of sight, out of mind, if it wasn’t for that damn cleaning duty. Oh, and being on call for the Justice League, that whole thing.

"Bea, I'm -- I'm trying to watch the show here."

Besides, tempers running high -- can he trust Booster to be wary of what words can and cannot be shouted in the heat of the moment? Can he trust himself, if things get out of hand? If they're gonna be found out he'd much rather it happened when he and Booster were on speaking terms.

And that's that.

He definitely shouldn’t go and try to talk to Booster right now. It’d be directly unwise.

It goes against everything he knows about human nature.

He can't.

Ted sighs, squirming in his seat. “_Fine,_” he groans at Bea, rising to his feet, heading up the stairs.

In front of Booster’s closed door he pauses, tilting his head sideways to study the narrow slit between the door and the door frame. He can spot that little glint of metal easy enough. Locked. Like it’s been every day this last week.

He knocks gently.

“What is it?” comes Booster’s voice, low and vaguely annoyed.

Ted shifts his weight over on his other foot, unsure what to do. He knocks again.

“I said what _is it?_”

He knocks once more, gently until the lock clicks open and the door swings slightly ajar, just wide enough to see Booster scowling at him.

“Yeah, that’s what I feared,” Booster mutters, giving Ted a look he’d otherwise give to a piece of gum stuck to his shoe. He begins closing the door. “Go away, Beetle.”

Ted swiftly forces his arm into the gap, hoping Booster still cares enough not to break any bones. “Booster, come on --”

“Can you just leave me _alone?_” Booster groans, his hand resting on the door knob. No slammed doors or broken bones so far. This is going surprisingly well.

Ted hesitates, uncertain how to proceed. “Look, if you’re still mad at me --”

“_If_ I’m still mad at you?”

“Just -- just let me have it already,” Ted tells him, taking a shallow breath. “Tell me. Get it out of your system.”

Booster makes a noise, a groan so far back in his throat it’s more of a growl, scrunching his nose in disgust. “Jesus! That’s how you think this works?” His hand rears back from the door, and for a moment Ted braces for a punch. Instead Booster makes a fist and presses it to his own forehead, eyes squeezed shut, like he's warding off a migraine. “I'll just have a big shouty tantrum and then everything’s alright again?” He kicks the door, not hard enough to hurt Ted's arm, and stomps over to the window. "Are you kidding me?"

Ted silently slips inside, closing the door behind him. “Look, I know I messed up, I know we --”

"_We’re doing the League a favor, Booster!"_ Booster sneers in a mocking sing-songy voice. "_Oh, think of all the good we will be able to do with this money, Booster!_’” He hides his face in his hands, his shoulders high and tensed. “_You’re only nervous because you don’t have _myyy_ experience in high finance, Booster, don’t worry your pretty little head about it!’_”

“Hey,” Ted protests gently. “It’s not like I was the only one excited to do this. You didn’t take much convincing.”

Booster spins around, looking at Ted with a frown. “I _told_ you it was too much money.” He inhales, the breath whistling through his teeth. “Most of that came from Max, and we just, just fucking took it and lost it.”

“So Max only has money to buy six yachts this year instead of eight,” Ted shrugs, flashing Booster a smile. “He’d punish us way worse than making us vacuum the floors and do the dishes if it had set him back any.”

Booster frowns at the floor. "It's fucking humiliating, is what it is."

"I know, I know," Ted murmurs softly. "But then we'll be through and it'll be done." He tilts his head and flashes Booster a smile. "Forgiven, forgotten. Back to normal."

There's a heavy sigh from Booster as he lets his hands fall to his sides, suddenly seeming very tired. “Yeah, that’s just how the world works for you, right?”

Ted pauses, genuinely confused. “What?”

“Like, like this. Like you can just --” He pauses, a soft groan of frustration escaping him. "Hang on." Booster walks over to his nightstand and pulls out a piece of paper. He unfolds it, the worn-away print indicating it’s been opened and refolded a significant number of times already. He holds it up, and Ted sees his younger self staring back at him, wild curls down to his shoulders, eyes bright. It’s an old newspaper article -- or actually a photocopy of one.

_TURBULENT TIMES FOR K.O.R.D. INDUSTRIES,_ the headline reads.

“What, you’re digging up dirt on me now?” Ted scoffs, taken aback at this theatrical reveal. A flush of buried shame at what he suspects might be in that article, and not just his funky hairstyle on the photo.

"Where did you even get that?" he asks, like it matters.

“Oh, you come across things,” Booster sneers, lowering his gaze to the paper. “Let’s see. ‘_In spite of his relative short term as head of K.O.R.D. Industres’ energy department, the younger Kord_’ -- that’s you, see? If you couldn’t tell. ‘_Has once again proven beyond a doubt that his talents lie in blueprints and rulers rather than spreadsheets and calculators_.’”

Ted feels something tensing, tighter and tighter, tensing to the breaking point in the back of his head. “Booster --”

“_'A disastrous quarter has all but sunk K.I.’s energy department after a series of questionable investments and baffling staff changes, all at Theodore Kord’s discretion. This is the second time --’_” Booster looks up, fire in his eyes. “_Second,_ Ted! _‘The _second time_ Thomas Kord has had to freeze one of his departments’ finances because of his son and heir’s financial mismanagement. It's like economist Lars Rivdahl once said: Nepotism is the death of industry.’_”

Ted takes a deep breath, closing his eyes. Trying to untense that piano wire in him before it snaps. He can't. When he opens his eyes again he sees Booster silently stare at him. "I'm sure you feel very clever having dug that up," Ted sighs. "But what does it prove, Booster?” His body is both restless and exhausted at the same time. “That I, I suck at office jobs? That I shouldn’t run a huge industrial department with zero experience?” He never wanted that job, he was content working on the floor, in the workshop. He never wanted an office on the tenth floor, with meetings and secretaries and a phone that never stopped ringing

“It shows that this is how things always work out for you, Ted,” Booster sighs, sitting down on his bed, staring at the paper in his hand. “You could have told me, that -- that this is what you _are_, what you do.”

Ted feels an anger flaring up in himself, unsure if it’s justified, but nevertheless it’s there. He feels bamboozled. Trapped. “Oh, you’re a psychoanalyst as well?” he sneers. “What is it I _do?_”

Booster looks down, frowning. “You -- you have fun throwing money around and when you’re done, somebody always bails you out.”

“You think that mess didn’t have consequences for me?” Ted replies, gesturing at the paper. “My family, the media, my -- my prospects?”

“Oh, your poor _prospects,_” Booster makes a face. “Whatever is an award-winning inventor genius and only child of a filthy rich tech magnate to do?”

“I can’t help who my dad is, Booster!” Ted throws out his arms. It feels so wrong defending that rotten old man. “Are you mad at me because of my family, now? Or didn’t you know?” He sighs, regarding Booster's disapproving stare. “Look, I’m sorry, I’m used to people putting two and two together when they learn my name, I didn’t consider that you’re not --”

“I knew, Ted, trust me,” Booster hisses. “Even the stupid, naive glory hound from the future knew. I just didn’t know that it’s--" He makes a face, gesturing at Ted. "It’s programmed into you. That it makes us this different."

“How are we different?!” Ted exclaims.

Booster sizes him up, a tired despair in his eyes. “Like how you -- you were born into all that."

"I wasn't!"

Booster snorts derisively. "No? How old were you then? When K.O.R.D. Industries took off?"

"More like --" He could lie. He could shut down Booster's whole argument with a tiny, tiny lie. But it wouldn't really be a win, would it? He sighs. "Eleven. I was eleven."

Booster's shoulders droop as he tilts his head back, chuckling thinly at the ceiling.

_Great argument, Ted._

Booster takes a deep breath, a cavernous sigh, and looks at Ted. "Yeah, I -- I never had that kind of safety net, Ted. I was supporting my mom, my family, with my football career.”

"Yeah, you got paid throwing a ball around," Ted mutters, knowing it's unfair but desperately wanting to hit back. "Back-breaking work, alright."

Booster's breath whistles through his clenched teeth. “Do you understand that kind of pressure? How scared I was about being outdone, or getting injured? We’d _starve_ if I stopped being the _absolute best_.” He pinches his eyes shut, turning away. “When I fucked up I _had to_ pay for it because no one was in a position to bail me out, I did the worst gamble of my life because --” He stops abruptly, shaking his head, then he looks back at Ted. “Do you even know what it’s like, worrying about money?”

“In case you haven’t noticed,” Ted murmurs, annoyed. “I’m not exactly living in the lap of luxury here.”

Booster clucks his tongue. “Oh, I’m sorry the accommodations aren’t to your liking, Mr. Kord.”

“No, I don’t mean --” Ted barks, making a face. “What I _mean_ is, does it look like I’m living off my dad’s money?” He gestures to the window. “Do you think I’d be driving around in a piece of shit Toyota from 1976 if I was rich off the Kord family fortune? It’s all I could afford after I sold my apartment in Chicago so I could eat and keep the Bug running for another few months, before I got into the League.”

Booster makes a surprised little noise. “Your dad cut you off?”

“When I quit K.O.R.D. Industries.” Ted looks away, that horrible lump in the back of his throat that returns whenever he has to think about it. His voice wavers. “He, uh -- disowned me, even.” The one thing he could never laugh off, could never tell like a funny little anecdote. That after a lifetime of trying to be good enough, working his ass off for approval, his dad let him know he didn’t consider him family anymore. That he was ashamed to call him his son.

Booster looks at him. “When was this?”

“When I left Chicago and moved here, so --" Ted exhales softly. "1986.”

He was in a _coma_ last year, for fuck's sake. His dad never even checked in on him. 

“So that makes.... _Four_ years living like the rest of us,” Booster murmurs low. “Must be devastating. Poor, poor Ted Kord.”

"For fuck's sake," Ted hisses. "You know what, seems to me you're just looking for things to be mad about," he points finger at Booster. "Can't you just be mad about the resort thing? About the League fund? I can't fucking keep up with all this extra stuff."

"You wanted to talk, that's what we're doing."

“What is it you want to say, then?” Ted groans, frustrated. "What is this all _about?"_

“It’s about you and money and, and _consequences_.”

“That’s all? That’s it?” Ted sighs, trying to find a calmer center. Trying to have a regular conversation again. “Fine, I feel rotten about it. There.” He holds out his hands in defeat. “I’m paying the same consequences as you, you know. Scrubbing the toilets and doing dishes. I can do more of your chores if you feel I’m more to blame.” He searches Booster’s face. “If that’s all this is about.” 

Booster flinches, looking down at the paper in his hand. “No, it’s, um,” he curls his fingers, the paper crackling softly. “It’s everything you haven’t told me, it’s about -- about this whole other life you’ve led.”

Ted chuckles hoarsely. Rich coming from the mystery boy from the future. "Yeah, we've been through my corporate fiascoes. Those were it."

He can hear a soft exhale from Booster. When he speaks his voice is thin. “Who’s Melody Case?”

Ted's taken by surprise, the wind knocked out of him once more, like the impact of falling onto his back from a great height.

Of course.

_That's_ when that article is from.

Ted frowns, looking away. “If she’s mentioned in that,” he gestures to the paper in Booster’s hand without meeting his gaze. “I’m sure it says.”

“Well, it says _‘soon to be wife’_, it doesn’t say if -- “ Booster pauses, swallowing. “That you --”

“No, Booster, we didn’t get married,” Ted groans. Another one of his oh so public failures, shoved in his face.

“Must have been a close call,” Booster mutters darkly. “_’Soon to be’_.”

Mel wanted a June wedding, they were through by March.

“What, you want a full portfolio on all my exes?” Ted sneers, restless from having to think about all these things again. "Where do you want to start, huh? First kiss or loss of virginity?" If they got started on Booster’s sexual escapades, that would probably take them a few weeks to get through. If he can remember them all.

“Just the ones you almost _married_, Beetle,” Booster snaps.

"What does it matter? We didn't!" Why the hell did he come up here? What the hell is all this supposed to solve? "You can't be jealous of someone I was with before you even existed in this timeline, Booster! You just can't."

Booster looks at him, almost surprised, and Ted realizes he should probably lower his voice.

Booster crosses his arms, frowning at the floor. "I just -- I," he takes a shuddering breath, not looking up. "You weren't ashamed of being with _her_, were you? Hell, you probably had a, a, press conference to announce the engagement." 

Ted snorts. "We didn't, Booster."

"If things had gone a little differently you'd probably have a little toddler running around by now."

Ted makes a strange little noise at the back of his throat, the mental image like a cold jet of water down his back. That restless anxiety in him flaring up, and his first impulse is to make a joke. Except he can't think of one.

"I guess I --" Booster looks up, frowning. "I guess I just realized the difference between how you're living right now and how you _want_ to live."

Ted swallows. "You're assuming hell of a lot from an old article in a finance mag."

"Like the -- the resort." Booster exhales through his nose. "You're telling me that wasn't you trying to get back on track? Trying to slide right back into that kind of life?"

"Shit, it's not that deep, Booster!" Ted exclaims, lower than before. "You think you've found me out, when the resort was just, just me -- us -- getting excited about an idea and then it didn't pan out." He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "It happens, Booster. At least you got to spend a month tanning on sunny beaches."

"What did you get out of it, then?" Booster mutters. "Did you get some downtime, or did you spend it all on pushing me off you?"

"You're all over the fucking place right now, you know that?" Ted hisses, uncomfortable at the direction this conversation has suddenly gone. Because he doesn't want to hear it, how he isn't enough, how Booster would be happier in someone else's bed. If he isn't already. “I don’t even know what we’re fighting about anymore.”

There’s a sharp noise from Booster, a short groan of frustration. “I don’t know, Ted. Maybe it’s how much shit you got us in because you spent a ton of money that wasn’t yours. Maybe _that's_ it.”

“_We_ spent it, you idiot!” Ted hisses. “You don’t get to pin this on me! This was a two-man endeavor.”

“So why am I the only one who feels bad about it, huh?” There's a desperate quality to Booster's voice, like a spoken sob.

"Yeah, you're running around doing everyone's errands. I've noticed," Ted mutters, refusing that spark of sympathy he feels at the sight of Booster's sad blue eyes. All those little favors, going out of his way for the others. It's like he's actively working to make Ted seem like the bad guy. "What a good little boy scout you are all of a sudden."

"You pretend nothing even happened," Booster sneers. “Like, Jesus, am I the only one who can’t fucking sleep at night because the League is in the red? Because Max has to bankroll us all over again?”

“So you feel bad for Max, huh?” Something pricks in Ted’s chest. The nerve of Booster, blaming Ted for having an entrepreneur dad while Max is the one living off his family money. Max is the one with goddamned roman numerals behind his name. “So he’s the right kind of rich guy, is that it? Like _he's_ worked a goddamned day in his life.”

“This isn’t about Max.”

“Isn’t it?” That pricking in his chest growing more insistent. There’s always been that bond between Booster and Max. Something... _intimate_, ever since Max got Booster into the League. His pet project. It's so obvious now that he thinks about it. “That’s why you’re so upset. Max has been bankrolling _you_ since day one, hasn't he?”

“No he hasn’t,” Booster squirms. “He -- It was a loan. When I was new here.”

Ted feels a thrill at this new information. At being right. “And you’ve paid it back, have you?”

“I mean -- no,” Booster looks away, his voice dropping to a murmur. “When we both got into the League, he -- he said we were even.” He pulls his fingers through his hair and exhales sharply, turning back to Ted. "Look, I came here with nothing but my suit and equipment, you know that. I don't even have a social security number."

"Good thing you found a millionaire hotshot to take care of you." Or is it billionaire now? Max with so much money he runs the Justice League as a _hobby_.

It all comes back to Ted, the rumors when Booster and Max both appeared, already a duo when they talked themselves into the League. Or Max did, anyway. Rumors about the playboy and his handsome boy toy. “Has he cut you off now, is your money ticket mad at you?”

“I earn my paycheck just like you,” Booster sneers. “Just like anybody.”

“You sure about that?” Why should _Maxwell Lord_ of all people forgive someone’s debt? He spent a ton of money when he became the League’s manager, seems an odd time to forgive a loan. Ted leans towards Booster, studying his face. “Sure you haven’t been repaying him in other ways?”

Booster’s eyes spark with anger, almost like... He’s giving himself away? “What the fuck are you implying?”

Ted can't stop those uncomfortable memories from that tumultuous week in Nebraska from rising to the surface of his mind. Their whole row before they tried to figure things out. Booster letting that disgusting businessman paw at him for free drinks. Just for drinks. Imagine what an actual millionaire (billionaire?) could pay for.

They stare each other down, until Booster exclaims without words and looks away. "You know what, forget it. Forget it." He frowns at the floor. "You wealthy jerks can't help but think of each other as rivals, I guess."

Ted snorts, not rising to the bait, instead taking note of how quickly Booster wants to change the subject. Ted doesn't want to be right, but he often finds he can't help it. He can't help it even when it hurts. 

"You're bouncing around at a mile a minute and I can't keep up, Booster." Ted mutters, tapping a finger to his own temple. "I don't understand how your fucking mind works."

"Yeah, likewise," Booster sneers without looking at him. 

There's a pause, none of them meeting each other's gaze. Ted waits for the final words, that verbal knife to cut him, to sever their secret bond. If this is how unhappy Booster is, even disregarding the wasted League fund, why do they do this? If Booster is so frustrated with him, who he is _as a person,_ what on earth do they do all this for? 

The sex? Like it hasn't been made painfully clear what an uptight, anxious bed companion Ted is, how Booster wants more from him than he's able to give.

He waits for Booster to say it. But he doesn't.

What a coward Booster is, that he can't even say it. Can't even tell Ted what a loser he is, how Booster's been wasting his time with him these last months, these last years.

What does Booster see in him at all?

“Funny you should latch on to me,” Ted murmurs at last.

Booster exhales softly and looks up at him. "What?"

“You said it yourself, you already knew who I was, who my family was.” The first time they met in that gym Ted told him his real name. How much of a naive idiot can you _be? _"You knew and immediately had to get in tight, didn't you?"

"Ted, what --” Booster frowns. "What the hell are you talking about?"

“And now you’ve discovered I’m even poorer than you,” Ted hisses, glancing at the rumpled article on Booster's bed. “No wonder you’re upset! Must be devastating!”

Booster studies him with wide eyes. “You're -- you're actually insane." 

“Did I hit a nerve?” Ted murmurs, taking a step towards Booster. His heart is pounding in his chest, his pulse thundering in his ears. “After all that time buttering me up, too. Guess you have to go back to Max and suck up to him.”

“You’ve lost your fucking mind.” Booster looks at him, fire in his eyes. “Get out. Get out or I swear I’m gonna slug you.”

Ted was right all along. He couldn't help being right, as usual. A guy like Booster could never be attracted to him. Could never want to touch a body like his. Couldn’t ever mean it when he said “I love you”. He’s glad, now, that he couldn’t say it back. What an even bigger fool that would have made him.

“Last chance." Booster's lip curls in disgust, in anger.

Ted regards him, the tension in him, fists balled up, ready to strike. He could take him, take the vain pretty boy whose muscles are all for show, could fight dirty like he learned in Chicago.

He could take him.

Without a word Ted gives him a final look, a triumphant, furious look, and steps out the door.

The door is slammed behind him so hard the displaced air whips through Ted's hair. He stomps towards his own room when the door on his left opens and Bea looks out, concerned.

“Didn’t go well?”

Ted makes a groan of frustration so sharp it hurts his throat.

“Yeah, I gathered,” Bea murmurs.

Her brilliant idea. Go and talk to him. Go and fix this. Go against every instinct you have and try to talk to the guy who’s been mostly quietly fuming at you, go stir the hornet’s nest.

Go make this irretrievably worse.

She rests against the door frame, seeking Ted's eyes. “Wanna talk about it?”

“No,” Ted murmurs into the hall before he slams his own door shut. “I don’t wanna fucking talk about it.”

**Author's Note:**

> The girls are fightinggg.
> 
> There's also the fact that Ted's role in K.O.R.D. Industries is portrayed vastly different between the Blue Beetle solo run and the bits and pieces you get in JLI. I've been meaning to bridge the gap but whoops I accidentally a whole third narrative.
> 
> **[Song:](https://open.spotify.com/user/tilly_stratford/playlist/4SqomvmhyncWPEAobYUZ88?si=DNXWufsLSs29KqRywW2U9A)**  
Victim of circumstance - Joan Jett and the Blackhearts


End file.
